


Stilling

by arkajalka



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ace Jon, Alternate Universe - Library, Alternate Universe - no fear entities, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/caregiver abuse (chapter 5), Happy Ending, I'm trying to write fluff here but the universe won't let me, M/M, Mentions of internalized homophobia (chapter 4), There will be descriptions of violence in future chapters and the tags will be updated accordingly, What if things were just a little less horrible?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24509371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arkajalka/pseuds/arkajalka
Summary: “Have you thought that maybe your coworker is being nice to only those people he knows will not let him down? That no matter how it seems to you, he’s actually being careful about whom he’s giving his compassion to?”“No. That can’t be it.” Jon knew that for sure, because- “One of the people he’s being nice to isme.”
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood
Comments: 92
Kudos: 250





	1. Prologue

From time to time, when Jon didn’t have anything more meaningful to discuss with his therapist, he’d comment on how wrong many people were in trusting others so easily. On how lightly they seemed to give away their care and compassion. For example, in his new workplace, there was this man who would always be ready to help, always be ready to mend any disagreement, always have kind words for everyone -even him, Jon.

_“At first, I was sure he was doing it to, I don’t know, make fun of me? Or to somehow gain leverage? But it seems that he’s like that with everyone. And I don’t understand. Doesn’t he realize that when people let him down, it’s going to hurt even more when he knows he’s been kind to them? That he wanted to be friends with the people who, who would hurt him and take advantage of him?”_

_“Do you mean that your colleagues are treating him badly?” his therapist asked, with a serene expression that always made Jon feel like he knew where the discussion was going._

_“No. But they might, they could, in the future. And the longer he has been nice to them, the worse it will hurt him when that happens,” Jon was unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. He knew that logically, people should trust their day-to-day acquaintances not to mortally wound them or anything like that, but. He just knew that his coworker would end up with people using him. He could feel it._

_“Have you thought that maybe your coworker is being nice to only those people he knows will not let him down? That no matter how it seems to you, he’s actually being careful about whom he’s giving his compassion to?”_

_“No. That can’t be it.” Jon knew that for sure, because- “One of the people he’s being nice to is me.”_

*

After this discussion, Jon started paying more attention to how closely he was observing his coworker. It’s not like he even met Martin Blackwood all that often -he worked in an entirely different floor and they’d run into each other only occasionally. However, he didn’t think his interest in the man was completely out of proportions.

The first time they’d met was when Jon had been in the back room digitizing some old files. Martin had poked his head from the doorway and asked if Jon wanted some tea.

“What, why?” And who are you? The question had yanked Jon out of the trance in which he was editing the file. 

“I’m taking a break and I noticed you have been in the computer room all day, so I thought you could maybe use some too? Sorry for interrupting your work, by the way,” the man said, stepping back a little bit when he saw Jon’s startled face.

“What do you mean all day? What time is it?” Shit, he hadn’t noticed time passing. He hadn’t been meaning to lose himself in the work again. That would lead to bad things happening, that would lead to work being the only thing there was again, would lead to him spiraling again-

“It’s half past four, I’m really sorry if I-”

Half past four. He’d come in at eight, he’d and definitely had no breaks. “Ah. In that case, I really need to head out. Thank you for interrupting me.” Jon looked at the intruder’s somewhat confused expression and tried to offer some sort of explanation. “I get easily carried away when I’m doing something. I’m trying to pay attention to that. I don’t want to get too immersed in work.”

“I... I see,” the man muttered and smiled tentatively at Jon, who had gathered his coat and cane at remarkable speed from the back of the room. “Your name’s Jonathan, right? You started at digital library section last month? My...my name is Martin, I work at the counter.” The man, Martin, moved away from the door and gave Jon room to exit.

“Nice to meet you, Martin. And that’s right, I’m Jon Sims. I really need to head out now. Thank you again for stirring me up.” Jon didn’t offer his hand to Martin, but he did meet his eyes briefly before he started to make his way towards the stairs.

*

After that, Jon had actually had some breaks with Martin over the winter. Martin seemed to know everyone at the library, seemed to remember what everyone liked and what they were good at. Martin was a good listener, and Jon enjoyed having discussions with him about whatever book he or Martin was reading at the moment. Martin was talented at bringing people into conversations, something Jon both envied and admired. It was important to Martin that everyone was included, and he made it happen with such ease that Jon had even commented it at some point.

“Bringing people into conversations? Yeah,” Martin had answered, “there’s actually quite an easy way to do that. I mean, for example, if I’m talking about something with you and someone wants to join but doesn’t know how to, I can just, um. Ask them if they know anything about the subject, then explain it really badly to them and then kind of, well, invite you to explain it better? After that, the conversation usually takes care of itself.”

“What -that sounds almost like a trick? Does it really work like that?” Jon had been a bit weirded out that his actions could be predicted and used without him noticing.

“Well, it only works if people genuinely want to engage with each other. It’s surprising how often people really want to connect but can’t get over themselves to do so. I’ve been there often enough to know that I don’t want to make anyone feel like they don’t have a place in a conversation.” 

Martin had smiled and looked a little bit embarrassed, and Jon had felt fond. Martin seemed so big and clumsy, and he was often so nervous and anxious that it was almost painful to watch, but he paid close attention to other people’s comfort. In the months Jon had known Martin, he’d learned that he could always trust Martin to want everyone to feel happy and included.

“I see. And I actually find that really nice. It’s so easy. Being around you.” 

“Thanks.” Martin had smiled and looked at his hands.

*

Aside from Martin, Jon’s workmates were pleasant enough to work with, and he did take notice on that. His boss Sasha didn’t seem to mind him knowing essentially a fraction of what she knew about the use of databases. His colleagues Rosie and Basira sometimes found him funny, and he often managed to get the other digital section worker, Tim, to explain him things that he would otherwise have to ask from Sasha. Things were good. He was talking to people, making friends, he had an apartment and a job and he was taking care of himself. He was living a good life. Against all odds, he was alive, and he was living a good life.

But occasionally, Jon was reminded that he almost hadn’t been living any life at all.

He was coming from the printing room when he saw a tall old man approaching briskly him from across the lobby. The man’s quick movements sizzled with pent up anger, violence, danger. Jon wanted to retreat immediately, to hide, to get away, but the man had seen Jon and reached him before he could even think of a proper escape-

“The noisy teens are in the upstairs room again! Why has the staff still done nothing about them? The next time I see them I’m going to snap!” The man slammed his fist to his palm with a thud, and Jon who had been trying to back off couldn’t suddenly move. He couldn’t open his mouth or even lift his hand, and in the span of seconds he thought it was better that way -it was better that his hand wouldn’t move. If it could, it would have shaken and the man would have known how much Jon was afraid of him -the man wasn’t close enough to touch but he already knew he could hit Jon if he chose to, and Jon knew there was nothing he could do about that, and the man must have known that as well-

“Hey.” Tim’s large frame appeared between them out of nowhere. He had his entire back turned to the angry man, and he looked at Jon with a calm expression when he said, “You should go to the breakroom. I think someone was looking for you. I’ll take the customer from here.”

Then Tim had turned around like it was nothing, and Jon had scrambled away without looking back.

*

He had cautiously accepted that he could trust his workmates. He could trust Martin to tug him out to take a break on the days he became too absorbed to stop working. He could trust Tim and Sasha to take the lobby incident up with security; apparently the tall old man had been behaving threateningly towards teenagers in more than one occasion. He could trust Basira to carry the heavy boxes for him without asking, offering him a scoff and a crooked smile. He could trust Martin’s face to light up the whole room when he in turn fetched Martin to have a tea break or a lunch. He told as much to his therapist.

“I don’t think it’s unfounded, that my workmates trust each other so well. They work at the same place. It does make sense. But it made me wary that they extended it to me right from the start, just like that. They have no warrant that I’m not…rotten and would…take advantage of them if they let me. Especially Martin, he treated me right away like I was someone he liked, like I was his...friend.”

“Do you intend to use that against him somehow?” his therapist asked.

“No! I want to deserve his trust and I…I want to be his friend. I mean, I don’t want him to stop being my friend? I don’t know if he thinks of me as his friend, but he _acts_ like he does. Like he wants to be around me. I’m not sure if this makes sense. Maybe it’s stupid to get so worked up about someone being friendly to me at work.”

“That sounds like a healthy footing for a friendship to me. As long as you both find each other’s company enjoyable and appreciate the connection, I can see no harm done in you wanting to be his friend. Don’t you agree?” Doctor Dekker had an almost annoying skill to make Jon’s most skittish thoughts and wishes sound normal and acceptable.

*

There was something that was harder still to enunciate in therapy. There was a reason Jon primarily fumbled about his relationship with Martin, and not for instance with his endlessly patient foreman Sasha. Although Sasha was always supportive and more than tolerant with Jon messing things up -and it did make him feel bad- that was just how it was. How he was as a subordinate -he was just incredibly lucky to get a boss as understanding and forgiving as Sasha James. But. He never sought out Sasha’s company, or Tim’s or anyone’s at that matter, like he sought out Martin’s. He didn’t…bask in their presence like he did in Martin’s. He knew it was simply Martin’s way to be: Martin wanted to make everyone around him comfortable, and Jon was drawn to that. He enjoyed the pleasant little anecdotes Martin would tell, he liked to observe his hands as they held things with such care, he loved the friendly and avid expression Martin wore when he listened to Jon’s ramblings. It was a complicated thing to put into words, but the gist of it was that without exception, Martin made him feel safe and welcome. It had been a long time since anyone had made him feel like that. And to thank Martin for that feeling, Jon had of course soured it with his greedy, self-absorbed, stupid little fancies.

Jon would trust himself to develop a crush on the first person who’d be kind to him. Martin was being his friendly, polite, normal self at his own workplace, and in reward, Jon had started to grow some sort of infatuation to the poor man. An attachment that was born from his own pathetic need to be seen and noticed. After all the misery and misfortune he’d drawn upon himself, after everything that had happened to him, he should know better. He felt ashamed to still, after everything, be so self-centered that he wanted…

Well, it didn’t matter what he wanted. It would do as long as he remembered that he was nothing special, and he shouldn’t wish to be, especially to his workmates of all people.

*

But sometimes, in the privacy of his own imagination, he allowed himself to picture what it’d be like. What it would be like to be a person who deserved Martin’s compassion and kindness and understanding. What it would be like if he were that person and could, in turn, make Martin feel as bright and important as he always made Jon feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. This is the first time I'm ever publishing a fic. Hope you find it entertaining. I feel like I'm exposing my soul and I never thought publishing something on the net would be this mind-numbingly terrifying.
> 
> English is not my first language and I'd be happy to receive comments if there's something to be corrected. Also on any other aspect of the text.
> 
> This story will eventually have fluff, hurt/comfort, angst and a happy ending. I'll update the tags as I go.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been nearly five years now since Jonathan Sims had started at the library, and Martin could only think fondly of the difference the time had made on him. It was the end of the holiday season, and they were having a new year’s celebration with the entire staff at the lobby. Everyone had brought some food or drink for the evening, little gifts and wishes were exchanged, different compartments were awarding their most valued workers and so on. People were complimenting Martin’s bundt cake, and among them, there was Jon whose smile seemed almost effortless. They were chatting in a small circle, him and Jon, Tim, Basira, Melanie and Sonja. When Sasha bumped in to snatch a biscuit from Tim’s paper plate, to everyone’s surprise, Jon started to speak.

“This has been a good year,” he begun, making a brief, deliberate eye contact with everyone in the circle and smiling gingerly. “I’m really glad that I work here and have all of you as my coworkers.”

After a small silence it became clear that Jon wasn’t going to continue, Sasha looked at him warmly and said: “And I’m really glad you’re enjoying it here, as uneventful as the work is. I know I’m speaking for everyone when I say that we appreciate you a lot, Jon.”

Jon looked quickly down and nodded. “Thank you, Sasha.” Martin couldn’t tell Jon was shaking slightly or if his cheeks had grown redder, but then he lifted his face and looked at Martin with such a happy expression that Martin felt his own face heat up.

*

Martin took great delight in getting to know everyone at work and making friends with those he found interesting. The job description at the library’s customer service matched his abilities perfectly, and he was ever grateful for whoever had decided to transfer him there. He was good enough to keep his post, and at this point, the job felt almost permanent. It meant that here -unlike in any of his previous workplaces- he could really get to know his coworkers. He knew he was one of the “we” people referred to, not a temporary aid or the first person to be resigned when the time came. Somehow, he felt like he was a part of the team. 

“Martin, hi. We’re having an afterwork beer tonight at Last Straw, are you coming?” Tim looked up from his computer when Martin entered the room.

“Hi! Afterwork, um, tonight?” Martin repeated.

“Yeah. They have a pub quiz so we are going in to kick everyone else’s ass.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, today is Friday so I can’t. I’m going to see my mum.” He went every Friday, had done so for over three years now. “But I really wish I could come.” He wished that the afterwork would sometimes be organized on a Thursday instead of a Friday, or that he would dare to go see his mum on any other day than Friday. He didn’t want to even think about what would happen if he did -she was always so particular about times and the Friday evening visit simply couldn’t be rescheduled. Ever.

“Right, I forgot. Sick mum. Well, we should do it sometimes on the weekend so you can come as well. I’ll ask the rest of the team if we could go on Saturday next time!”

“Thank you, Tim.” Like said, he didn’t think he could get closer to being truly a part of the team than he had here at the library.

*

Martin liked to follow the little interactions between everyone at work. He liked Tim’s natural charisma and aspired to be as funny and wonderful as him. They were always at each other’s backs with Sasha, who was otherwise the most serious and respectable boss anyone could ever hope for. Martin had gathered that Tim and Sasha knew each other from way back before the library and reveled in working together. Melanie, the youngest and most recent addition to the staff, had somehow implanted herself in right the middle of the Sasha-Tim duo, and together with Tim she’d come up with pranks for (mainly) Sasha. It had started with them printing an incomprehensible amount of pictures of Nicholas Cage’s face, and gluing them everywhere in the break room -inside the microwave, in the bottom of the coffee jar, to the restroom ceiling, between the sheets of paper on the flap board and behind every painting Martin had looked. There were probably many still unfound. For a reason completely beyond Martin, Sasha got more worked up than anyone else every time a face of Nicholas Cage turned up. What was even more inexplicable, Sasha and Melanie had become fast friends after that. Martin knew a lot of the finer parts of the interactions between his coworkers flew right over his head, but it was still fun to observe, and the general atmosphere was always good-natured.

Even if the people he met at work were just his coworkers, he thought about them as his friends. It was the most close-knit group of people he’d ever had around himself. Tim and Sasha were lovely to him, Melanie piqued him about things (like he was somehow notable), Basira didn’t (like she would with people she didn’t like), and there was also Jon. The quiet short man with hauntingly beautiful eyes that Martin would have loved to drown in. He was so, so thankful for the rest of his workmates that they had never revealed his embarrassing crush to Jon himself.

Martin wasn’t daft, of course. He could see that Jon was a person re-learning all the things in his life. When he had first came in, he’d been like a marionette doll performing human actions, doing everything he was told. And jumpy as hell too, ready to bolt when anyone as much as spoke to him. At the time, Martin had been intrigued by the newcomer, wanting to make him feel more at ease. It had been awful to watch the man go around apologizing for everything, acting fearfully towards everyone and being almost pitifully thankful when anyone was kind or polite with him. Jon had clearly come out of a really bad place, and Martin had wanted him to know that the library was not similar to that. And after a while, Jon had started to come out of his shell, being more comfortable around them.

Jon had been, and still was, excessively careful with his thoughts and opinions. The first time he’d confided something to Martin, he had been very deliberate and pedantic at the phrasing: “I feel like I could enjoy this. And it doesn’t seem likely to backfire.” Martin couldn’t remember what it had been about, something insignificant, but even after years he could remember Jon’s incredulous voice when he had made that statement. It had been hard to imagine what kind of backfiring Jon was thinking about, or what made him think that enjoying something would somehow backfire on him. However, he was happy to see Jon overcoming this fear. And over the time, it had seemed to dissipate a little. It still made him warm to think about one time they’d left work together, late at night.

_“Tonight is the first night after new moon. If it’s not cloudy, the crescent moon should be visible.” Jon told as they made their way towards the doors. “Don’t look at the sky before we’re outside, and make sure you’re holding something in your hand.”_

_“Sure. Why?”_

_“It’s good luck to see crescent moon the first night it appears, but only if you don’t look at it through glass. And you should be holding something in your hand.”_

_“O-okay. So do I get to make a wish, or?” Martin obliged and grabbed the shoulder strap if his bag._

_“No. It’s just for good luck in general.”_

_Outside, Martin watched first as Jon removed his glasses, held them in his hand and then looked up at the sky. Then he turned his own gaze up, and sure enough, could see the narrow crescent at the inky strip of sky between the buildings. Jon exhaled slowly and when Martin looked at him, he smiled nervously and quickly turned his head away._

_“I didn’t think you’d be one to believe in good luck rituals,” Martin wondered._

_“I’m not. I or maybe I am? A little bit. I used to think that I couldn’t…make right choices. But now I know that if I do all the right things, it, it might work out in the end. The moon might not give me good luck, but it won’t hurt to try,” Jon said, “and if it does, I wanted you to have the luck too.”_

_“Really? Thank you, Jon.” How stupidly warm it felt to be looked at like that, and to be told things like that._

They had walked together to Martin’s bus stop, and Jon had continued to his home. For a good ten minutes, Martin hadn’t even tried to get himself together.

*

While Martin was clearly dumb enough to fall for his hallowed looking, mysterious and beautiful coworker who obviously had a tragic and dreadful past and was possibly a witch, he wasn’t stupid enough to imagine anything could ever come out of it. He knew that finding out that your ugly, overweight, clumsy and slow coworker was hopelessly in love with you was enough to make anyone uneasy -let alone someone so guarded and wary as Jon. Martin felt happy and honored that Jon seemed to count him as his friend, and having such strong feelings for him felt almost like a violation to that. But as long as he never, ever let Jon know that his feelings towards him were more of the romantic sort than platonic, he wasn’t violating their friendship. He could secretly adore Jon’s knowledge and the passion with which he shared it; he could admire his sharp features and rich, deep voice (and the way he said Martin’s name, the soft and mindful tone he always spoke him to), and still be Jon’s friend. He hoped. 

Besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t been taught that particular lesson about dating before. Whoever was comfortable with having Martin around, at their disposal, in their bed or loving them, would not be comfortable with disclosing that relationship with anyone else. Martin hadn’t dated all too much because he found out that even two or three people asking him to keep their relationship a secret while assuring that yes, they did like him and maybe at one day could even be his boyfriend officially, that was…that was just too much. He had heard the message; he wasn’t someone who could be dated, not really. Or at least it was too embarrassing to admit or show. He had tried to do everything right, but the problem seemed to be more that he was Martin and less how he was Martin. And he was in no hurry to hear it again.

Sometimes his treacherous thoughts reminded him that not everyone treated their dating partners like garbage. That maybe the guys he had dated had been dicks as much as he had been a moron for staying with them. That some people did in fact end up having fantastic romantic relationships. But he was also pretty sure that those good people ended up with other good people and not with useless duds like him. Intelligent, driven people like Jon, who was clearly focused on growing and healing himself, would not somehow magically become interested in someone as sorry and stupid as Martin.

*

Jared had dropped by to bring some package to the library, and Martin had ended up chatting with him at the corridor. He was a hulking guy, tall enough to dwarf even Martin, and though Jared’s talks sometimes irked him, he was mostly a decent person. Today, however, he had seen Jon while he’d entered the building, and made it his business to bring it up with Martin.

“I can’t believe you’re lusting after that flat ass. The dude acts like a stray puppy someone kicked,” Jared told him, and it was all Martin could do not to tell him that it was entirely Jared’s own fault if someone felt uneasy at his presence.

“Don’t talk about Jon like that. And I’m not _lusting_ after his anything.”

“Bullshit. You have been pining after him for like, a decade now.”

“Hardly, seeing that I’ve only known him for five years. And besides, that’s a different thing.”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t want to date him, then?” Jared was now grinning tauntingly.

“What? That’s, that’s not-” Martin tried to grasp for a suitable answer.

“’That’s not’ what? What’s your deal with him if not that?”

Martin let out a breath. Jared had a hard time understanding other people, he had told Martin as much. His question was sincere, even if it was laid out provocatively. “I…I just want to see him happy. He is…Jon is amazing and lovely and I feel so lucky to be his friend. I would never ruin that by confessing my feelings to him. And of course I would like to date him, you daft idiot, but people as brilliant as him don’t just date people as dumb as me.” 

“I see. Don’t think we’re talking about the same person, though.”

“Just…please be nice to him.”

“You got it, dude. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go find myself a new puppy to kick, since you've claimed Sims.” Jared winked and walked away. Such an ass.

Martin was still rattled by the exchange when he took a turn from the corridor and saw -Jon. He looked startled, his mouth open and his face many shades darker than usual. He was clutching his cane convulsively, and it was clear that he had heard the conversation.

“Jon? Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, _I’m_ sorry, I promise I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, I should have announced myself, I did wrong-”

“You obviously did nothing wrong! I shouldn’t have been gossiping in a corridor, and I should never have been speaking about you behind your back.” Martin cut Jon’s panicked explanations, rebuking himself and his stupid tongue, “I understand if you-” _see me now for the pathetic loser I am,_ “-don’t want me around because of- uh, this.”

“Martin, hold on. You said nice things about -about me to some stranger, you should not be sorry! You should be mad that I breached your privacy by listening in!”

“I’m really not. I’m just sorry you had to find out that I have a crush on you like this.”

“That’s. That’s what you said. Do you mean it’s true?” Jon’s expression was hard to read.

“Yeah, um. Yes. It is. Again, I’m sorry, I -please forget about it. It’s stupid, I promise you I will never speak about it again.” It hadn’t been just stupid; it had been careless and rude of him to assume that he could share thoughts about his affections like that. Enough to make anyone embarrassed.

“But you said that…you would like to…go out with me?” Jon said, finally meeting Martin’s eyes. His free hand was now gripping his elbow, creasing the fabric of his shirt. “I. I would love to take you on a date. If you want to,” he continued, his face flushing darker once more.

Martin blinked. “I…what?”

Jon looked uncertain and fearful, but his eyes didn’t leave Martin’s, and Martin somehow managed to utter out: “Yes, that would be, I mean. Yes. Of course I want to.”

_What._  
_What had just happened?_


	3. Chapter 3

Jon was going on a date with Martin. _Jon was going on a date with Martin._

Naturally, he had asked the man he loved and adored out right after listening in to him having a very private conversation. It wouldn’t have been Jon otherwise. _There is a possibility,_ he thought gravely, _that Martin agreed to go only to scold me. And I would richly deserve that._

That was improbable, though. He had known Martin maybe liked him for a while; Melanie would point it out all the time. She had said he should either ask Martin out or stop “feeding him sugar with a spoon”, whatever that was supposed to mean. Anyway, he didn’t deserve Martin’s devotion by any means; the man was way too good a person for Jon, and would eventually realize it himself.

Only that when he had heard Martin’s conversation with that awful deliveryman, his words could have been from Jon’s own mouth. Well, not really. He would never disclose his thoughts as casually as Martin, but it had been unbearable to hear that Martin thought that he, Jon, wouldn’t want to…So he had done as he always did and acted on an impulse.

And now he was going on a date with Martin. Which would be splendid, if he didn’t feel like there was a shoe somewhere waiting to drop. Deep down he felt -he knew- something would go wrong; he would do something wrong and bad things would happen. But maybe it would be worth it. To Martin, not to Jon, obviously. Hopefully. He would have a chance to somehow show Martin how important and precious he and his friendship was to Jon.

*

He had known the exhibition he took Martin to was good. He had loved it the first time he saw it, and had read everything he could find on the sculptor and the artworks. With all the information, the exhibition became much more interesting, and he shared what he knew with Martin. It was also nice to see that he’d guessed right: Martin was just as captivated by the art as he had been. The massive, dark metalworks that represented both people and animals with smooth and unbothered faces; the tiny sculpted insects with their wings full of diamonds and their compound eyes made out of small emeralds; the miniature people with serene faces, radiating peacefulness.

Now that Jon thought about it, it seemed that Martin was enjoying the exhibition even more that he could have anticipated. He had been so nervous when they met up, looking as lovely as ever, but somehow tense and apologetic. Once they were inside museum, he had become immersed by the art almost right away. They had gone from room to room with no obvious order -which didn’t bother Jon because he had had the chance to do that already- and Jon would sometimes tell the story behind a specific artifact. Martin had been mostly quiet, apart from the occasional _this is incredible_ , or _amazing_. At some point the tension had left him altogether, and a few times Jon had realized that instead of looking at an artwork, Martin would be looking at him with that shy smile on his face. That smile had always made him feel quite warm, and he’d had to look at the floor or a wall for a while to orientate himself.

*

They were sitting at a café now and chatting, and internally Jon was starting to grow confused and out of place, because, well: nothing had happened. Nothing bad had happened. By any standards, this had been a successful date. They had gone to a museum, he had bought them tea and a sandwich afterwards, the building hadn’t collapsed, and somehow Martin still didn’t hate Jon. In fact, he was looking quite happy and pleased with the cup of tea in his hands.

Would he be as appeased if he knew how improperly often Jon thought about those hands? What would he say if he knew that even during workday, Jon would sometimes think about Martin holding his hands, Martin holding him; wasn’t that a peak of unprofessional, egoistical indecency?  
But he didn’t get to think about that now. They were on a date and he had been telling Martin about the specific piece of folklore, and its connection to- well, speaking of indecent egoism.

“I’m sorry, I must have been talking for an entire hour now.”

“Oh, don’t be. The story is intriguing and it’s nice to listen to you,” Martin said with the gentle and honest tone and Jon hoped fervently that he wasn't just being polite.

“Ah. Thank you. I hope you didn’t get all too bored- I only now realized I never stopped talking about the exhibition. Just monopolized the whole conversation.”

“Hey now -the exhibition was spectacular, I loved it! And your explanations made it even better.” Martin put his cup down carefully. “And besides, you always get so immersed when you talk about something you like. It’s wonderful to see you so excited.”

“I- thank you,” Jon repeated, flustered. He didn’t understand how Martin always just took his worst qualities and stated that they were likable. “It’s just…when you get irritated by, well, me and my rambling, just let me know right away and I will shut up.” He twisted his hands on the table.

Martin scoffed, smiling. “Jon, I promise you; if I found you annoying, I would have told you. I enjoy your company.”

“That’s right. I’m really glad you do.” Jon looked Martin in the eye and dared to smile back.

There was a pause. Jon revered in the fact that he was here, so close to Martin that he could see the little creases around his eyes, the exact tone of his cheeks and lips in the warm electrical light. He needed to say the things he intended to, but that could wait a little longer.

Martin glanced at Jon’s hands on the table, his face carefully devoid of expression. Slowly and intently he reached across the table with his hand, and deliberately brushed the tips of his fingers over Jon’s knuckles, all the while studying Jon’s face. Then he withdrew his hand.

Jon reached back for Martin’s hand immediately, almost out of instinct. He placed his fingers lightly on top of Martin’s and felt a rush of terror. _I want to touch his hand. I reached for it. This is where it has to go wrong. Somehow, all will go wrong now._

____

But nothing happened.

____

A few seconds passed, and Martin exhaled, looking at where their hands were joined. He opened his mouth but instead of speaking, he turned his hand around, palm up. Their fingertips were touching now, and with a slow and cautious movement, Martin stroked his thumb over the pads of Jon's fingers.

____

For a short while, Jon simply drank in the feeling of being touched and the sight of their hands together. Then he looked at Martin’s face and saw something much akin to his own terror reflected in there. His thumb had gone still now.

____

Jon moved his bad hand over the table and took Martin’s hand between his. He caressed Martin’s palm gingerly and savored the moment. He would speak to Martin now, and no matter what happened afterwards, it would have been worth it.

____

“Does your hand hurt if I touch it?”

____

“…sorry, what?”

____

“The scar. Would it hurt if I touched your hand?”

____

“Ah. No. It’s sensitive to temperature changes, and not much else.” Jon’s burned hand had barely any sense of touch left; most of the time he would only feel the skin straining. How curious that Martin should notice.

____

Martin was silent for a while, and then added his hand on the pile. Neither of them spoke; for a minute, they just held each other’s hands, and Jon wondered the at the look of utter seriousness -almost sadness- on Martin’s face.

____

Jon needed to say everything now. He wanted to tell Martin all the things he had thought over the years; how indescribably important it was to have a friend like Martin, how much he liked him and how he wished them to be more than just coworkers, how he wanted to always be as close to Martin as he was right now -but none of that could be put into words. And before he could scrape his thoughts into a coherent form, Martin spoke again.

____

“I’ve had an amazing time today, Jon, so thank you for indulging me. But I have to ask -why did you ask me out?”

____

“I…” That was the gist of it, really. “It’s because of what you said in the corridor.” Jon grit his teeth at the memory of invading Martin’s privacy. For that, he owed Martin a proper explanation, and more. “I am still so, so sorry about listening in. But for years now, ever since I met you, I’ve wanted to, I don’t know? Be around you. Have you close. And I don’t deserve any of that, but to hear that you thought you didn’t…that you thought I wouldn’t…I just wanted you to know that -you are so much better person than me. Taking you out, being on a date with you, it’s a great honor to me. It’s more than I could ever ask. So please; don’t ever think that would think myself too good for you.” That wasn’t quite everything, so he tried to summarize it better: “You mean so much to me.”

____

His hands were shaking now. They must have felt so sweaty in Martin’s.

____

How come were his thoughts always so disjointed when spoken aloud?

____

Martin was quiet for such a long time and Jon was all but ready to panic -he had said too much, he had been invasive again, Martin’s cheeks were red with embarrassment, his eyes were downcast, he was uncomfortable-

____

“Oh.” His voice was almost a whisper now, and he lifted his gaze to meet Jon’s. “Is that- do you mean…I don’t know what to say.”

____

“Don’t feel obliged to say anything. I apologize; I made you uncomfortable.” _Again._ Jon started to draw his hands away, he didn’t want to embarrass Martin any further. To his wonder, Martin didn’t readily let go.

____

“You didn’t! Please, Jon, _stop_ apologizing.” He seemed to realize he was squeezing Jon’s fingers and loosened his grip instantly. “It’s just that I’m not sure if I’m hearing you right. Are you saying that you like, like me? That you _would want_ to date me?” Martin’s voice was incredulous and his hands shook a little. It pained Jon to think that for some twisted reason it was Martin who thought himself inadequate for Jon.

____

“More than anything. Yes.” After the words were out, he found he couldn’t look Martin in the eye anymore. “I cherish the time I spend with you. Always have.”

____

To that, Martin apparently didn’t really know what to say, so they both just sat in silence.

____

*

____

How they were able to pick up the light conversation after that was a complete mystery to Jon. They ended up chatting until the closing time of the café, and only when they were leaving had Martin let go. He already missed the brush of Martin’s fingers against his skin, but even more he missed the feeling of connection. Holding Martin’s hands had been so easy and comfortable, and it had felt natural to do so -for more than an _hour?_ \- but now the connection was gone and he didn’t think he’d dare to initiate it again, no matter how much he wished.

____

“Are you taking the tube?” Martin asked when they were outside.

____

“Yes, I don’t even need to change the line. How about you?”

____

“Tube and bus. It’s that way, right?” Martin nodded towards the direction. 

____

“Yes.” The date was almost over, they’d depart soon and he had told Martin most of the things he wanted to, most of the things that could be said. In a rush of boldness, Jon swept his hand down Martin’s arm; not intending to do anything more, it was just a goodbye, just a thank you. But when he saw the delighted and surprised expression on Martin’s face, he felt something inside him crumble.

____

“Jon, what is it? Are you -are you okay?”

____

To his own horror, Jon felt he was starting to shake. It had been a while since it had last happened, but here it was again, his eyes pricking and his entire body trembling. He’d all but forgotten how fast it became impossible to breathe.

____

“Shit, Jon look at me, are you having an allergic reaction? A panic attack? What can I do? Do you want me to let go?”

____

Jon shook his head and gripped tighter. “N-no. Please, if it’s not too much-”

____

“Of course it isn’t.” Martin laid his free hand tentatively on Jon’s shoulder and stroked it slowly down his arm. “Tell me when you want me to let go.”

____

It was easy, easier than Jon had remembered, to get his breathing under control. Martin’s hand stroking his arm was a bright point to concentrate on; somehow Martin was still here, somehow he was still holding on to his hand. The tears wouldn’t stop flowing as easily.

____

“This is…this is so embarrassing. I’m sorry. Thank you. I didn’t mean to…I mean, I’m fine. Thank you, Martin.”

____

“Don’t worry about it, it happens to everyone. What are you even thanking me for?”

____

_For not hating me for…for.._ “May I, uh. May I hug you?”

____

“Sure.” Martin waited until Jon had leaned against him before cautiously wrapping his arms around Jon. He stroked Jon’s back with slow motions. It was almost embarrassing how fast Jon felt his body relax in his embrace.

____

Jon hugged Martin as long as he dared, his head turned away so that his still leaking eyes wouldn’t stain Martin’s clothes, before he let go. “Thanks again.”

____

“It’s quite alright. I just want to know if I did something that…prompted this? Do you need me to, to step back or give you space?”

____

“No, it’s more like. More like.” Jon swallowed. “Overwhelming. To tell you that I feel…That I like. You. And have you not hating me. I felt so long that you might. If you knew.”

____

Martin’s hands came back to his shoulders and he looked at Jon with a frown.

____

“Look, Jon. I think the world of you. You must have known that. You must know that.”

____

All that Jon could manage to answer was a small huff of laugh, and an involuntary and probably dumb-looking smile.

____

When they departed at the tube station, Martin hugged Jon again, and this time Jon let himself be lost in it for a while. It had been a long time since he’d touched anyone this much. Hugging Martin felt good, it felt like falling asleep or drowning in warm water. Like going home.

____

“Are you sure you don’t need a cab? Will you be alright?”

____

“Yes, Martin. I’ll be fine.”

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The exhibition they went to was that of Dashi Namdakov's.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been easy to give Jon the words he needed. Martin had found the right words like he always did, and that had made him feel good, like it always did. He was flattered by Jon clearly wanting him to stay, but now that he was sat alone on Jon’s bed, he suddenly felt terrifyingly vulnerable. He always knew how to make someone satisfied, and they would happily accept it -and give him nothing back.

_Martin Blackwood was 23 and he was in love._

_This was different than anything he had ever felt for anyone. This feeling was like a bright, white fire in his stomach; it was like soft blanket around him every time he sat alone in the quiet of his mum’s apartment. It felt like a miracle that he could have an emotion so strong; that he could know with such an unwavering conviction that it was good and pure. He would breathe in the knowledge that he was capable of such an enormous and beautiful feeling. If he could feel something this good, then surely he couldn’t be entirely, totally bad himself._

_The boy he was in love with, Thomas, was a few years older than Martin and initially approached Martin. It had been marvelous. Somehow, he had known that Martin liked him, and the feeling was clearly mutual. Who would have thought that falling in love was this easy! It felt amazing -this was how love was supposed to feel. This was how people were supposed to feel all the time. So light and clear._

_He was so full of love._

_Martin Blackwood was 25 and he knew now how laughable it was to think that loving anyone could lead to something good. The conversation he had had with Thomas kept playing in his head on a loop:_

_“Thomas, look. I know you don’t want me around most of the time, and I think it would be good if we maybe didn’t do this anymore. You know I would like to be your boyfriend and you don’t want that, so let’s just…stop.”_

_“I understand where you’re coming from, Martin, but you need to give me some time. This thing has potential, and after a while, I think we could start dating officially.” Thomas’ words made Martin’s stupid heart leap despite everything. Would he really, actually give Martin that? That was all he had wanted ever since they had started…this thing. Seeing each other? Sleeping together? Whatever it was._

_He had voiced his wish to actually start dating a few times. Before, it had resulted with Thomas not speaking to him for a week, and then showing up on Martin’s door full of apologies and explanations about how he just couldn’t have someone like Martin as his boyfriend. And honestly? Martin fully understood. That was why he always closed his eyes and kissed back when Thomas reached for his face and brought their lips together._

_Martin hated the hopeful tone of his voice when he looked up and said: “Really? Do you mean it?”_

_“Yes. I have been thinking about you a lot lately.” Why did his heart just sing when he heard those words? “But look, Martin, this comes with conditions. Yes, there are already conditions. First of all, no one can know we’re dating. It’s not- it’s not that I want to hide you or anything, I just don’t want people to know about my private life. And second, I’ll be also dating other people. I know we’ve been together quite intensively, but I have been seeing other people during this time. And I want to continue doing that. Of course, you are free to do so as well if you want to.” The last sentence was added almost as an afterthought, like it had occurred Thomas that it was a phrase that he was supposed to say. Like he didn’t think that it would apply to Martin specifically._

_“Okay. I -I see.” Martin remembered how the feeling he had for Thomas had been a white fire in his stomach. Now it was a stained red pain in his throat._

_He did continue seeing Thomas for a while after that. The hot, bodily emotion he had once had for him became colder and colder each time he saw him. Eventually, the coldness settled around Martin’s stomach and throat and stupid heart, and he stopped answering to Thomas’ messages and opening the door to him._

_After that affair, he was more careful with letting people know they had his heart. He wasn’t a person whose love would make anyone proud or pleased, but he would rather not have anyone spell it out so clearly for him again._

Martin Blackwood was 29 now and many things had changed. He knew that, theoretically, he was not inherently worth less than anyone else. And acting like he wasn’t, even if he had a hard time believing it, made life more pleasant. 

Things had also changed in that he was dating again. He had initially been quite confused more than a little distressed after his and Jon’s first date. It had seemed like Jon was expecting him to be -what, exactly? Different than what he usually was with Jon? Mad at him, or something? But it had been lovely to hear him say that he appreciated Martin. And he would never be anything less than kind and nice with Jon. 

For a while after that, it had been hard to find out what Jon wished or what he expected to happen next. In the end, they did go on a second date, and a third one, and it had been incredible. Martin had taken Jon to one on his favorite places: a cliff that looked over a highway. They’d had to climb through a hole in a fence, and he had been worried about how Jon might fare with his leg. But he had said it was alright, and when they arrived, he’d been taken away by the view just as Martin had thought. Martin hadn’t thought, however, that Jon would lean against him lightly after a while and ask if he could kiss him. The traffic had streamed in the darkness beneath them, so far below that the noise was just a low rumble, and the kiss had been maybe the most romantic thing Martin had ever experienced. He would never forget how breathtaking Jon’s eyes had been up close; how gently his fingers had curled around Martin’s ears. 

Going on dates with Jon was easy. It felt like finding something that had always been there, something that was always supposed to be there. They had been going to lunches together before, and this was the same, just with more touching. With more being allowed to feel enamored and even speak about it. 

Part of Martin was ready to call this love. That part of him was constantly blown away by the fact that he was actually having a…romance? And Jon was doing nothing to discourage him. He would hug Martin or hold his hand at the slightest prompting, like he was waiting for a permission to do so at any given moment. Like he really wanted to.  


Part of him despised that desire for love and affection. How many times did he have to learn that he could never have such things? Wasn’t it painful enough to know that he was not -would never be- loved, without the constant yearn for it? Without the insidious hope that found him time after time; _maybe this time it’s different, maybe he could love me. Maybe he will want no one else, but me._

_You don’t know what Jon wants. He will have his fun with you and then shoo you away. And you’ll have to smile and act like it never meant anything._

_But Jon isn’t that kind of person. He seems like he really wants me around. For whatever reason._

_He will change his mind, though. It’s been, what, a week now? Just wait and see. How could he not?_

He tried to push those thoughts away. Without them, things would have been better than in a long time, funnier and more exciting than he could remember.  


Besides, tonight, when they left work together Jon had kissed him on the cheek at the stairs of the library. Right where anyone could have seen! Had he known how important that had been to Martin?  


_But no one saw, did they? You don’t know if that’s the whole point. Maybe he kissed you exactly because he knew that no one would see._

_That’s not fair. We’ve never even discussed if it’s okay to…_

_-why haven’t you, then? Oh but I know. It’s because when you do, he’ll learn how desperate you are for recognition. He’ll know that you’d do anything if he as much as declares you as his dating partner, and he will start to hold it over your head._

_Maybe he won’t do that._

_You don’t know what he wants, and you’re definitely not seeing the whole picture right now. Don’t think you do. Best case scenario, he will grow tired of your dumbness. Bright people like him will always make fun of slow oafs like you._

_But I know him. He’s not like Thomas or Dan. We’ve been friends for years and I know what Jon’s like. He’s been through more than me and he's kind._

_You are still you, though._

* 

They left work together because Jon wanted to cook Martin a dinner. Jon’s apartment was right by the library, and Martin was so excited to see it.

It was tiny, and quite frankly, horrible. A barely 200 square feet room with a kitchenette on one wall, a bed on the other, a writing desk and a few chairs. A pile of books in one corner and a colorful quilt were not enough to make the cramped room look homely.  


“How come you live in here? You could afford to a bigger place, right?”  


“Ah, yes. Well, this is cheap and close to work. I intended to rent this only temporarily, but now I think it suffices just as well as any,” Jon started listing, “and there’s no stairs.”  


“Right!” Martin answered. That made sense.  


“I know I’m not the target age group for these apartments. All the neighbors are younger, people who’ve got just enough money to rent a place alone here in the outskirts. But it’s nice enough.”  


“It sounds good. And the short commuting time must be wonderful.”  


“How long is your way to work? I hope it’s not as bad as Tim’s?” Jon asked. Tim’s apartment was amazing. Martin, Jon, and the rest of their friend group had been there for a sushi evening a year ago; it was an entire floor of a ground level apartment, complete with a small garden. But it was so far away from the library it would have been faster to commute from France.  


“Heavens, no. But it’s far enough that I can afford a few rooms.”  


“I see.”  


It was fun to make dinner with Jon. He moved about his apartment with such ease, his cane left at the door, explaining about the food. Martin mostly did as he was told and occasionally shared pieces of what he knew and thought about cooking.  


The food turned out wonderful. It was well past nine when they ate, and Martin hadn’t even realized it before Jon fell silent for a moment and then awkwardly asked: “You will be able to take the bus home, right? There’s -there’s still buses going?”  


_He’s afraid that I ask if I can stay over._ Martin wanted to tell Jon that he’d never make Jon uncomfortable by assuming that he could. Especially as they’d done, what? Gone to a few dates in a span of one week.  


“Yeah, there’s still buses -I looked it up when we left from work. They go twice per hour until eleven and a few go even after that. I’ll be fine.”  


“Okay.” Jon looked both relieved and frustrated, and Martin didn’t know what to make of it. “Thanks,” he added quietly.  


“Don’t worry about it, Jon.”  


This time, Jon hid his expression by kissing Martin’s shoulder. The message couldn’t have been clearer. _He feels safe with me right now, but that’s not the default he feels with people or even with me._ Martin felt ashamed of how caught up he had been with his own insecurities. _Whatever our thing is, whatever he wants with me, is not something I can anticipate based on what I know about dating. I don’t know what he’s been through, but he’s definitely having a harder time navigating this than I am._

He stroked his hand down Jon’s back and pressed a brief kiss on his temple. “If I leave in twenty minutes, I’ll be at home at a reasonable time. Is that okay?”  


“I suppose.” For some reason, Jon looked still dissatisfied. “I’ll put the plates away.”  


“Let me help.” Martin rose up.  


“No, just sit back. I’m not washing them now.”  


Jon started putting the leftovers to the fridge and stacking the dishes in the sink. Meanwhile Martin did as he was told, eyeing the book pile and spotting some names he knew.  


“Hey, you have Abarat! The book, I mean. It’s amazing.”  


“Oh yeah, I read it some time ago. It’s quite gripping.”  


“I think I read it as a teenager. I couldn’t get over it. May I take a look?”  


“Of course, Martin.” It sounded like Jon was smiling.  


He took the book from the pile and browsed the pages quickly over. What an impactful tale it had been. He had been completely immersed in the story of a lonely little girl who made her home among fantastical beings in another world. The tale had been violent and terrifying, but the love she had for the magical world always kept her afloat.  


Martin opened a page at random, and stared at the oil painting of a dismaying monster.  


“I had forgotten about this whole story. I really loved Christopher Carrion,” he mused, petting his hand over the picture with nostalgia.  


“The antagonist? Why?”  


“He was so tragical. I think the reader was supposed to love him.”  


“He was cruel. Why would anyone think…he hurt and killed people,” Jon said, now frowning.  


“You’re right. But that was the tragedy about him. He never wanted to be like that, and he tried to be better. No one just ever allowed him to. Hell, I must have cried so much when I read these books.”  


“So you think Christopher Carrion should have been excused for everything he was, everything he did?” It was hard to read the tone of Jon’s voice. He had turned his face so Martin couldn’t see his expression any longer.  


“Well, not excused, but forgiven. I always wished Candy, or someone else, would have forgiven him. He deserved more than everyone’s hate and distrust.” Martin felt suddenly very defensive over the fictional crush of his teenage years.  


There was a long pause before Jon answered: “I see.” Then he fell silent, and started to rustle the dishes in the sink.  


Martin was a bit weirded out by Jon’s behavior, but was still enchanted by the book in his hands. He took in the rest of the beautiful, horrifying illustrations for a full minute. He had used to live and breathe this book.  


He had a vague sense of Jon turning around and staring at him from the other side of the small room. Maybe he’d overstayed his welcome. Before he could rise up and make an excuse to leave, however, Jon crossed the room to stand right in front of him.  


He laid his fingers gingerly on Martin’s shoulder, and Martin could feel his hand shaking.  


“Martin, I…if you’d like to, you could stay here for the night.”  


Martin felt a bit lost at the sudden change. “Um. Look, Jon, sure, but not if you’re only asking out of politeness. I don’t want to stay unless you actually want me to.” How many times had he imagined waking up next to Jon? But he didn’t want to have that if Jon’s offer wasn’t sincere. Not now, not ever.  


“It’s not that. I do want you to, I just don’t want to…” Jon let go him and looked uncomfortable. “I don’t want to give the wrong impression. You know that I’m -that I’m disinclined to engage in sexual activity, right?”  


_What? Shit, is that what he’s so worked up about?_ Martin had thought they’d had this discussion already. It had been long ago, before they were even properly friends, but- “What, yeah, obviously? I thought you explained it to me already.” Also, had Jon been rehearsing that last sentence over in his head? It sounded like he might have.  


“Yes, but I wasn’t sure if…I don’t know if I’ve been, uh, behaving suggestively, and I want to apologize if I have-”  


“No, Jon, you haven’t. And you do know that if you had, it wouldn’t change anything, right? You said you don’t have sex, end of discussion.”  


“O-okay.” Jon exhaled, and lifted his eyes to meet Martin’s. “In that case. If you want to stay over and sleep next to me, I would very much like that.”  


“That would be nice. I would like to stay.” The whole discussion had seemed so unnecessarily difficult to Jon that Martin added: “If you change your mind at any point, just let me know. I’ll leave immediately if me being here makes you uncomfortable.”  


“It won’t.” Again, it was hard to read the tone of Jon’s voice.  


*  


It had been easy to give Jon the words he needed. Martin had found the right words like he always did, and that had made him feel good, like it always did. He was flattered by Jon clearly wanting him to stay -he'd even borrowed a spare toothbrush- but now that he sat alone on Jon’s bed, he suddenly felt terrifyingly vulnerable. He always knew how to make someone satisfied, and they would happily accept it -and give him nothing back.  


_You should ask him. He must have an idea already of what he wants this to be. Ask him what he wants you to be._

_I could. Then I would know._

_Exactly. You should ask him if he wants a fat, ugly, graceless man to be his boyfriend._

_Yes, well. At least I would get my answer._

_That’s right! Maybe you should also tell him what you fear the most. Tell him how you don’t want to be treated. That way, when he does those exact things to you, you won’t be able to pretend he does it unintentionally. And you will hate yourself even more._

_He will not be like that. He’s gentle with me. He’s gentle and careful with everyone. He wants me here._

Martin could almost keep it together when Jon returned from the toilet. His awkward demeanor switched to alertness immediately when he saw Martin’s face.  


“What’s wrong?”  


“Uh.” What was Martin supposed to answer? _I’m pretty sure I smell weird. No matter how many times I’ve washed my hands tonight, my palms won’t stop sweating._ “I feel a bit…self-conscious?”  


Jon walked across the room to sit next to Martin. “What can I do?” He laid his hand on Martin’s arm. “Does this help?”  


“Yes, uh, you don’t have to…I mean. I think I need to tell you something, or maybe. Maybe ask you something.”  


Jon was frowning again, and he didn’t move. Martin tried not to feel too alarmed by it. “Go on,” Jon told him.  


“Well.” _If I do this now, I’ll be forever done with it._ “I really like this. I like -dating you? I very much want to keep doing this, as long as you’re up with it.” Martin took a breath. “I’ve, uh, dated other people in the past, but -never officially. And that’s, that’s something I don’t want to do anymore. I don’t need you to have an opinion about this right now, but at some point I’ll…I’ll need you to be comfortable with me sometimes disclosing to other people that we’re dating. Otherwise I won’t want to do this.” Martin swallowed. He was lying trough his teeth. He would agree to anything if it meant that Jon would look at him like he had that night on the highway cliff.  


_What a way to make him respect you. Could you even be more of a doormat? Might as well ask him to walk all over you while you’re at it. Is this you setting boundaries or apologizing that you exist?_

Jon’s hand was now squeezing Martin’s elbow, and he had moved a bit closer. “You have been only dating in closet.”  


“I -yes. And I mean, I, I understand people’s need for privacy. I respect anyone’s wish not to be associated with me. It’s just something I can’t do,” Martin added. “Earlier, today, you kissed me at the library. And I thought that…maybe you might -maybe I could ask this of you.” He bit his tongue and looked away before continuing: “but as I said, I don’t need you to have an answer right now. And if you only want to do this for a little while, then it’s not important.” He had involuntarily wrapped his arms around his stomach, where the hot, red pain had settled. Could Jon tell that was bluffing? Could he tell that he was downplaying the importance of this conversation, and of Jon’s answer?  


Jon’s arms reached around him, and he pressed his body to Martin’s side. When he spoke, his voice was even softer than usual. “I…Of course, Martin. What are you even saying? I would love to be your b- to officially date you. I didn’t know what you wanted, but I know I want to be…this. I’ve known for a while.”  


“Okay.” Martin said with a small voice.  


“It makes me angry to think that someone treated you like that.”  


“It’s my own fault if I let them.”  


“That’s not how it works!” All of a sudden, Jon seemed furious. “If -if _I_ ever do something you don’t want me to, I want you to tell me right away. I don’t care what it’s about. I will stop it.”  


_I’m pretty sure_ that’s _not how it works._

“I appreciate that.”  


*  


“So uh, do you want to sleep on the wall side or on the other?” Jon was sitting on Martin’s lap. He had held Martin and kissed his face and eventually, the tight knot in Martin’s throat had begun to dissolve. They had cuddled and made out for a while, and falling asleep like this was starting to seem like an excellent idea. Martin was exhausted. What was is that Jon had asked?  


“The wall side, if that’s alright. I wouldn’t want to squish you in my sleep.”  


“You’d rather drop me to the floor than squish me? I see. That’s what I’d pick as well.” Jon nodded solemnly.  


“Hey! That’s not-!” Martin stopped when he saw Jon’s grin. He cupped his hands around Martin’s face and the seriousness in his voice wasn’t fake when he spoke. “I’m so glad you’re here.”  


_If every time I wasn’t wanted were so that I could have this moment, it would have been almost worth it._ That wasn’t true of course, but in that moment, Martin let himself believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't express how much I love that homophobia is not used as a plot device in TMA. If you want to read Martin's past experiences in here as such, you are free to do so, but they are in fact based in my own experiences of straight relationships. As it turns out, people can be dicks regardless of whether they're being homophobic or not.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Comments are much appreciated.
> 
> ps. Clive Barker's Abarat series is quite something, if you're into horror and monster themes.


	5. Chapter 5

_They were sitting at the Last Straw and playing ‘would you rather’. The afternoon had turned into night because no one wanted to leave quite yet. There had been a pub quiz which the library team had lost to a group of teachers in the corner. Everyone was still in high spirits and after the quiz winners had been announced, they had launched their own game. Currently it was Sasha who was giving them choices between more and more ludicrous options._

_“Okay, would you rather…be able to wear only clothes that were made out of paper, or, instead of hair, have small teeth growing out of your head?” she asked with a wide grin._

_“What kind of paper would it be? Does baking paper count?” Basira was good at finding loopholes in the absurdities, but Sasha would seldom allow it._

_“No. The clothes are only made of copy paper, tissue paper or toilet paper,” she clarified._

_“What about the teeth, would I have to brush them like the teeth in my mouth?” Tim was looking thoughtful. “I think they would look cool.”_

_“You have to wash them like your mouth-teeth, otherwise they’ll start to crackle and chap. But you would look really cool with them.” Sasha sipped her beer._

_“How small would the teeth be, then?” Jon wasn’t particularly enthralled by the game. Having to choose between two different, equally unsettling scenarios had never been his idea of a great past-time. What he was enthralled by, however, was Martin who sat next to him and seemed to be enjoying himself._

_“Not very small, maybe um…similar to normal teeth, actually.”_

_“Teeth all the way,” Melanie declared. “They would look cool and be less annoying than paper clothes.”_

_“I would just wear like a hundred layers of paper,” Martin joined in, “I don’t think I’d like teeth hair.”_

_Jon stretched his back and leaned in closer to Martin’s side. His hand was on the small of Martin’s back, and it felt good to have him so close._

_“You’d have to wear as many layers of clothes as you usually wear,” Sasha resolved mercilessly._

_“Boo! Give us something else,” Tim demanded._

_“Okay, fine. Let’s see. Would you rather have it so that every time you raised your arms, your armpits would scream really loudly, or would you rather have eyes that had small legs, like spiders, and could crawl from your eye sockets wherever they wanted to?” The ease with which their boss conjured up weird scenarios was somewhat peculiar._

_“Armpits for me.” Jon didn’t need to think about that one._

_“How do the armpits work? How loud is the scream, and would it happen also when I’m sleeping? Would it wake me up?” Basira asked. She looked like she had already decided against the sentient spider-eyes._

_“Extremely loud, and the scream would wake you up if you lifted your arms in your sleep.”_

_“Hell yeah! Is it latent, I mean-” Melanie’s eyes lit up, “would my armpits scream also when I’m dead? I’d want to be buried with my arms up so that people could hear the scream from my grave.”_

_Sasha let out a delighted laugh. “That’s what I’m talking about! Your armpits would continue screaming after you died, until your bones are gone. Your grave would be the first most disturbing thing in the history of graves.”_

_“Nice.” Melanie swirled the beer in her glass and grinned._

_“What about the eyes though, would they just wander around on their own?” Tim squinted and tapped his fingers around his eyes._

_“Yeah, they’d go wherever but you could see everything they saw in real time.”_

_“So it’s kind of handy. Could I lure them back to my eye sockets by offering them treats? Something spiders would like?” Tim asked._

_“You can’t lure spiders with anything, you’re thinking about ants. You’d just have to go to see interesting places. That’s how you’d feed them.”_

_“Hmm. Maybe that, then.”_

_“What about you, Basira and Martin? Which one is it?”_

_“Armpits, no question.” Basira answered._

_“I wouldn’t want something so loud, so I think I’d take the eyes.” Martin said hesitantly. Jon’s hand twitched involuntarily, and Martin’s attention snapped to Jon. “Is that alr- are you alright?”_

_Jon stroked Martin’s back and smiled at him reassuringly. “Yes, sorry. I just didn’t enjoy the imagery.” When Martin still seemed too nervous to his taste, he pressed a kiss on Martin’s shoulder and added: “It’s just a silly game. No right or wrong answers.”_

_Sasha gave them a fond look and joined in: “Actually, there is winners and I’d like to announce them right now. The winner of the would you rather -game is Melanie, because she came up with the most troubling way to use the situation. And the real winner of the pub quiz is Martin, whose knowledge on eusocial insect species helped us to almost beat our arch nemesis and the only other group of academics at this bar: the teachers. Today, we came closer to defeating them than ever before.”_

_“Cheers to that.” Melanie raised her glass to Martin who scrambled to grab his, and they toasted. His eyes were flickering from the people around the table to his glass, and to Jon._

_The glass of wine Jon had had was enough to make him drowsy, and he would have been happy to fall asleep right after the pub quiz had ended. It was the only sport he was ambitious about, and he’d been to the Friday afterwork quite regularly. However, this was the first time for Martin._

_Martin who, at Jon’s side, was muttering something about not being an academic. Luckily, Tim didn’t let him go on for too long: “That doesn’t count or matter in here. What’s academia more than five years of guilt free drinking?”_

_“I thought it was four years,” Sasha nettled in._

_“Eight to me,” Jon said drily. When everyone turned to look at him, he explained as vaguely as he could: “I had some extra. What about you, Basira?”_

_“That’s none of your business. Four. Melanie?”_

_“None. I’m a self-declared intellectual; you academia people can keep your secret societies and blood-drinking cults.”_

_This time, Jon couldn’t help but flinching bodily, and was almost happy when Martin reacted immediately._

_“Jon?”_

_“I’m fine. …I might want to go home sometime soon.”_

*

Jon had never expected that getting together with Martin would be this easy. He had realized only afterwards that he’d been waiting for some sort of tragedy to happen. But it hadn’t been like that. It had been almost impossibly uneventful: no one had lost their limbs or other body parts; no one had died. It hadn’t been like with… It had been like with Georgie. But unlike with her, he wouldn’t ruin this thing with Martin with his arrogance and carelessness.

He’d cried for hours when Georgie had called. She wasn’t angry anymore, even though she had every right to be. It was still hard to believe he had her back in his life.

He knew he was lucky beyond any measure, first to have Georgie forgive her and then to have Martin by his side. Just like that. Every day, he resolved to be as good to them as he possibly could, to show them that he was worth their trust. Every day, in his solitude, he petted his hands down his sides where Georgie’s hands had been; where Martin would touch him now. Sometimes, when he saw his face in the mirror, he would touch the scarred skin of his face, like Martin did. To think that Martin saw the tale of his mistakes and wrongdoings written on his skin and lips and still wanted to kiss them.

He would tell about it all to Martin in time; he had promised. But in the meanwhile, it seemed that Martin’s hands were full dealing with his own past.

Without ever meeting Martin’s mother, he’d acquired something of a distaste for the old lady. He wasn’t quite sure if it was because of the frantic, fearful way Martin always wanted to meet her standards, or because of how relentless she seemed to be with her expectations. Martin only met her on Fridays, yet somehow also his other weekdays seemed to fill with anticipating her calls or running little errands for her, or simply being anxious about her overall opinion on Martin.

Martin himself didn’t seem impossibly drained by that, even if the whole thing seemed very exhausting to Jon. But he was also eager to take rests from her where he could, and when he mentioned how much he’d like to attend to the Friday pub quiz, it didn’t take much convincing to make him come.

_“I don’t know if I could; all the years I’ve worked at the library I’ve never gone to afterwork with you guys. Don’t you think it would be rude to go now?” he had asked._

_“It’s quite laid back -new people come and go all the time. I know many would like to have you there.” Jon had been sitting on the couch, playing with Martin’s hair. “Me included.”_

_“Maybe I could ask mum if it was alright to see her on Saturday instead of Friday. Maybe it’s not that bad. Just one time.” Martin had sounded excited. “I have always wanted to go.”_

He had gotten his mother’s permission to go on Saturday without too much trouble, and had seemed quite surprised by that. Jon could only feel unsettled by the whole ordeal; while it certainly was always difficult to change plans with elderly people, Martin had seemed to be dreading for an extensive display of anger. Jon had almost wanted to call the whole thing off, but it had seemed so important to Martin. And honestly, _that_ Jon could understand. So he had just shrugged the weird feeling off, and Martin had called one more time both to his mother and the nurses taking care of her to ensure that they knew that this week, he’d be visiting on Saturday.

*

“That was so cool. I can’t believe I’ve never gone before. Do you stay in this long every Friday? Did you hear how Melanie said that we’re cute together?”

“I certainly don’t go to the Last Straw with the rest of them every Friday, so I wouldn’t know. And it was lovely of Melanie to say so.” Jon sat down on the couch to rest his leg and gratefully accepted the glass of water from Martin. Then he smiled. “Tim also told me to treat you well, or otherwise he’d have Sasha move me to some other library. I’m not sure if he was being serious.”

“Really?” There was no telling if Martin’s face was so flushed because of the beer he’d had, or the walk outside, or because of how excited he was. Maybe it was all three. “You better be nice to me, then. Maybe Tim’s so protective because he likes me.”

“That might be true. Come here?” Jon pulled Martin to sit next to him. “I don’t want to share you with anyone.”

There must have still been a considerable amount of alcohol in his blood, because he didn’t feel embarrassed at all to snuggle up to Martin’s chest and mumble: “You smell so good. I hope that’s not a too creepy thing to say.”

“You -you think so?” The flush on Martin’s face was now visible on his throat and neck too, and Jon tracked the red dots idly with his fingers.

“Very much, yes.” Suddenly, a thought that seemed more sober entered his head and he added: “Sorry.”

“Will you ever stop saying that word in absolutely unnecessary situations?”

Jon’s higher brain functions had apparently gone to sleep already because he couldn’t really tell why he had even apologized. All he could concentrate on was the feeling of the two of them, right there, together. He brought his lips to Martin’s and savored the happiness that was almost bubbling from him.

“You’re right. I’m not sorry for saying that. But if I ever creep you out, you will have to tell me.”

*

Martin’s apartment was much more to Jon’s liking than his own. It was like Martin himself; warm and homely, whereas his own place looked like a dark and dusty crib. Martin’s flat was a place you could bring people into; there was a couch and an actual dining table so they didn’t have to eat at a writing desk like at Jon’s place. But combined with Martin’s overall messy nature, that meant that there were often things haphazardly lying around.

“Mm, hey. How come there’s dishes on the table? I thought we cleaned them all when we left.” For some reason, the two teacups they had used were still on the table, forgotten.

“Oh...I kind of wanted to leave them there? I, uh, didn’t know if I’d be coming home on my own, and it’s nice to have a reminder that you were in here too. Even if I was alone at the moment. Is that stupid? -that’s probably stupid. I’ll put them away now.” Martin moved to stand up, but Jon didn’t let him rise. He was already half asleep and could hardly take in Martin’s explanations -just the fact that he was nervous again, and on Jon’s account.

“Don’t. I don’t care if there’s cups on the table, Martin, I was just annoyed that I had somehow missed them.”

“A-alright.”

Martin let himself be pulled back down, and Jon slid his hands down Martin’s stomach. It was new to the both of them: in the beginning, Martin had frozen in place every time Jon touched his middle. Jon didn’t know how to make it better, how to tell Martin that he loved his sturdy built. He felt bad for selfishly wanting to immerse into his boyfriend’s soft body, to press ever closer, while Martin was feeling so insecure about it. In time, however, Jon saw Martin haul himself out of that anxiety. _I’m always telling other people to get over themselves. I can see how much easier their lives could be if they just weren’t so self-conscious all the time. I want to enjoy this -I don’t want to be thinking that maybe you find my body disgusting every time we hug or cuddle. You’ve told me you don’t, so I just need to get over myself and that feeling, right?_

Now Jon was drawing lazy circles around Martin's navel as he slumped in closer. He felt like speaking was something he could attempt to do in the next morning. Luckily Martin was taking care of the conversation.

“You know. I never thought I could have something like this. Everyone at work, they are -they are my friends, and _you_ , you are…I always thought I couldn’t have a relationship. And now I have _this,_ and _you._ I admired you so much for so long.” Martin’s usually fast-paced and high voice was now quiet and low and it sounded like he was tasting every word carefully. “And my _mum_ was alright with changing the meeting time. I had somehow thought that if I ever tried to do so, the world would somehow end. But she was just…fine with that. She said that I could do what I want to. I never thought it would be this easy.”

“I’m yours as long as you’ll have me, Martin,” Jon muttered sleepily. “And I’m glad tonight wasn’t too difficult to arrange.”

Just as he had said that, Martin’s phone rang. It broke the calm atmosphere and somewhat woke Jon up from his lull. Martin hurried to reach for it, and his whole body tensed when he looked at the screen.

“It’s mum.”

He glanced at Jon, turned away and hastily answered the call.

“Hi, mum.”

Jon couldn’t hear the voice in the other end.

“Yes, I had fun today. I’m so glad you were alright with the rescheduling. Thank you for that, again.”

Without letting go of Martin, Jon leaned away so he couldn’t accidentally listen in to what Martin’s mother said. He couldn’t help being curious, but he could help acting on it.

“No, I’m at home already. I’m -I’m actually here with someone. He’s, uh…I would like you to meet him some day, if you’re alright with that? His name is-”

And just like that, Martin went completely quiet. His whole body hunched down, and he lifted his free hand away from Jon’s knee where it had been resting. It took a while for the person in the other end to finish what she was saying, but by that time, Martin’s shoulders were trembling.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -Let me come tomorrow? Please, mum. Don’t, I-” He looked at his phone. Apparently the call had ended. The long, stagnant moment after that seemed to go on for hours.

Finally Jon dared to speak. His idle curiosity had dropped the moment Martin’s demeanor changed, and all the little hair in his body was now standing up. It had been frightening to witness the change in Martin’s appearance, and he dreaded to learn what had prompted it.

“Martin? What happened? Please say something?” He put his hands on Martin’s still back.

“I shouldn’t have…what was I thinking? I left her alone. I was supposed to be there. I abandoned her for the sake of my -my own amusement. She’s angry with me, that’s why she said…She didn’t really mean it all. It’s just that she’s angry and disappointed. I should have known better. I should have been better.”

“What did she say?” It was hard for Jon to follow Martin’s speech.

Martin looked down and breathed in shallow, panicky pace.

“Martin?”

“It’s my fault that she’s so angry. She should be. …She, ah, asked if I had. If I had paid for you to stay, because otherwise, why would anyone ever want to- to stay with me.” The tears Martin had been trying to hold in were now flowing from his eyes.

“She _WHAT?_ ”

“I’m sorry. I'm sorry, Jon," Martin was trying to choke his tears back and succeeding. "I didn’t mean to make a huge deal about... Everything is always about me and I don’t want that. I know you’ve been through a lot and you still always have to cater to my stupid things. I’m sorry I can’t be normal. Have one normal night without -without…” Then he finally broke down crying.

“Alright, Martin, look at me.” Jon waited until Martin turned his head, and the he waited until Martin had turned his whole body and sat face to face with Jon. Jon felt still lax and like he was moving in tar, like time had slowed. He sat up slowly and took Martin’s face to his hands. “You are not…don’t think you’re taking too much space. What I’ve done and what’s been done to me is in the past. Right now, I’m in a good place regarding to that. And a lot of that is because of you. I will tell you about my past at some point, but this is happening to you now. Your mother is purposefully hurting you right now.”

“Thank you, and no, I just.. She’s not, she’s just upset and she wants me to know it. I don’t want to speak ill of her. She’s my mum.” Martin was squeezing his phone between his hands and he was looking at Jon pleadingly. “I will make this up to her. She will forgive me. I can do it. Right?”

 _I’m not sure if this is something you can fix, Martin._ “Maybe.” Jon felt angry and powerless, helpless at the face of Martin’s despair. _How can she speak to you like that? _He drew Martin closer and kissed his forehead, while Martin’s thoughts spun back to the call.__

____

“She said…She said she doesn’t want me to visit tomorrow. She said she doesn’t want to see me anymore.” Martin’s voice was alarmingly high-pitched, but his words filled Jon with grim sort of satisfaction. If he could, he would make sure that the resentful old lady wouldn’t boss Martin around.

____

“I don’t know how to say this, Martin, but…maybe it’s good if you two take a while from meeting each other.”

____

“I don’t -I don’t want to abandon her just because I have…because I have _friends_ now.”

____

“I know you won’t. But I think you should focus on yourself and not her, until she has calmed down.” Jon was acutely aware that he had no idea what he was talking about. He hoped, from the bottom of his heart, that he’d figure the whole picture out before he overstepped or said something irreparably wrong.

____

*

____

That night, when they went to bed, Jon who didn’t find sleep easily. Usually he would fall asleep right away when they were together -it was effortless to drift away with Martin’s strong arms around him, safety and peacefulness radiating from his big body. Martin wouldn’t fall asleep as easily with Jon and instead, he’d listen to Jon’s breathing for hours -or at least that’s what he had told Jon. Jon would sometimes wake up to Martin pressing a light kiss to his neck or temple, and pretend to be asleep while leaning his body closer.

____

This time was different. First Martin had sobbed for some twenty minutes. It had broken Jon’s heart to hear him repeat how stupid he had been for wanting -what? It had been hard to make out all the words, but it wasn't just a "night out" or anything similar to that. It was something much simpler -or was it something much more complicated? Jon hadn’t known what to do so he’d just petted him and muttered something hopefully soothing until Martin’s breaths became even. When he had ran out of tears, he’d lost consciousness like a light had gone out. Then Jon had curled against his back, hand tight around Martin and fumed with helpless rage for what had felt like hours. He had been so ready to keep his own selfish whims and sinister ways in check for Martin that he hadn’t even considered that maybe he’d have to protect Martin from someone else too.

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how university works in England, and for the sake narrative flow i decided that you can take gap years and call them part of your studies, or go with a slower pace if you feel like it. That's how it works in here and it will make sense later.
> 
> Also wow, i had this chapter outlined before this week's episode dropped and I promise, Martin would have much better time if i had known what's going to happen to him in canon. Going easy on Jon seemed like the principled thing to do, but now it seems just as unethical to write bad things happening to Martin. Just...wow.


	6. Chapter 6

The 1000-piece puzzle in the breakroom had been fun for a while, Sasha mused sometimes, but following Jon’s and Martin’s relationship evolve was still her number one spare time activity. Now that they were finally together, their interactions always managed to lift her moods. The sweetest scene she had witnessed so far was from few weeks ago, and later she had learned that they had gotten together not much prior to that.

She had been sitting quietly on the corner and working on a particularly dappled area of her puzzle. She and Jon had been the only people in the room until Martin walked in, and she’d been pretty sure neither of them knew she was there.

Martin had just stood on the entrance, smiling at Jon’s back for a moment before saying: “Hi.”

“Hi, Martin.” Jon had looked up from his phone and his mellow smile had matched Martin’s perfectly. Sasha had almost given herself away by chuckling at the sight.

Martin had walked to Jon and brushed his arm with his fingers awkwardly, like he had and hadn’t wanted to do it at the same time. He had looked at Jon with some kind of question in his eyes, and Sasha had been annoyed about now being able to see Jon’s face. Jon had, however, taken Martin’s hand and lifted it to his lips. He had muttered something Sasha couldn’t make out after kissing Martin’s knuckles.

Martin had gone red in a matter of seconds and sputtered: “ _Jon_ , I’m -I’m already your boyfriend! You don’t need to hit on me.”

“Just stating a fact.” The smile had been almost audible in Jon’s voice. Sasha would have never guessed Jon as a cheesy kind of person if she hadn’t seen the way he interacted with Martin before. She had let out a small yawn to announce herself.

“Hi, guys.”

“Sasha! Hi!” Martin had been startled, but Jon had just turned around with a triumphant smile.

“Hi, Sasha. How’s the puzzle going?” he’d asked. He must have been aware of Sasha’s presence after all.

“Poorly, I’m afraid. But I’m glad for you two.”

“Thank you.”

“Thanks.” Martin’s voice had been quiet and cheeks still red, but the small grin on his face was joyous and proud. “Can I get you anything?” He had asked Jon.

“Could you sit down with me for a minute? I need to head back downstairs soon.”

*

Jonathan Sims had aroused Sasha’s interest from the very beginning. When the slight, scarred, cowering and limping man had come to work in her department, he had looked like someone who’d been beaten down with a bat one time too many. He was on a part-time pension and Sasha had had to check his age, because she was guessing he might be moving on to a full-time pension sometime soon.

The way Sims flinched at any sort of request, and the distrustful squint he made when he thought she didn’t see, and the oddly intentional looking set of scars he wore on his face and arms had made Sasha more than curious. She'd had her suspicions, and it hadn’t been all too difficult to look it up and find confirmation for her guess. The incident had gotten a lot of media coverage after all, and even if the names and the faces of the victims had never been published, there were always places to dig information from. She had brought her findings up with Tim.

“What? Really? He’s one of the people who were rescued from…?” Tim had almost paled. “Huh. I’m so glad you told me. I think I would have said something insensitive. I was pretty sure he was some kind of ex-con, but to think that he was _that_ kind of prisoner…”

“Yeah, it’s so messed up. I think he would mind us knowing, but I also think that it’s good that we’re aware of his past to some extent. We can make sure that he feels safe while he’s in here.”

“That’s right. I’ll be careful around him.” Tim was famous of his rowdy way of engaging, but Sasha knew he could be more delicate than most people if he wanted to. “Oh, by the way, do you think we should tell about this to Martin as well? He seems to have taken an interest on the newcomer.”

“I’ll talk with him too.” Sasha had resolved.

*

Sasha had something of a soft spot for Martin Blackwood. It was somehow easy to think of him as a little brother. Her own brother was always teasing her about picking up surrogate little siblings on campus, at work, anywhere she went to. And he was right too; she missed the feeling of having a sibling whom she could teach stupid things to and make pranks with when he wasn't around.

With Martin, she loved that she could show him how to do half-forbidden stuff and get away with it -he clearly had the itch for shenanigans but lacked the courage to pull them off. His eyes had been so wide when she took him to the rooftops of the library, and showed a vantage point where they could spy on people below without being noticed. He had been speaking with enthusiastic whispers until Sasha had laughed and explained that no one would hear them from up there. She had been so delighted with Martin’s excitedness that she had made sure that Martin’s contract at the library would continue. It hadn’t been hard -Martin had a natural knack for working with people, and making that his entire job description took care of the shortcomings he had elsewhere. They didn’t sneak to the roof together too often, but she knew Martin occasionally had a break up there.

It took a while for her to bring up the subject of Sims’ past with Martin.

“You know the new guy at my department, Jonathan?”

“I -yes. He’s nice.”

“He talks to you? What about?” Sasha couldn’t help but asking. Sims spoke to her as formally and nominally as he could, and knowing what she knew about him, it made her all the more curious about his actual personality.

“I don’t know. Books, mostly. I try to be as kind as I can with him.” 

“Do you know what happened to him?”

“No. Something bad.”

Maybe Sasha shouldn’t tell Martin. He seemed to have figured out enough by himself. He would be careful with Sims simply because he was Martin. “It’s good that he has a friend like you.”

“I…thank you.” Martin had looked at his shoes, and then up at Sasha, and added quietly: “He -he reads to me sometimes. He has such an amazing voice.” He had sounded like he was sharing a secret, and Sasha realized that he had. At the same time she realized that it was not her place to disclose anything about Sims’ past to Martin -that would be their own business.

*

 _How curious,_ she thought, _that it should be Jon who comes to me with that exact same request for Martin that I had for him all those years ago._

“I want to help him, but I don’t know how to. I don’t know what anyone could do but I’m asking you to be… kind with him. Not that you usually aren’t, just. He’s…Martin is…in a bad place. But he doesn’t show it. I only saw him break down once, and I can’t fathom how anyone could bear to live in such a difficult…situation.” Jon’s face and hands were twisted in anguish and the sentences he managed to utter were blending together.

“Of course, Jon.” Sasha felt oddly touched that she was the first person Jon would ask for help. And in fact, he had been right to do so, because… “I can actually think of something concrete I could do. What do you think of this?” She beckoned him to come to look at her computer screen, then realized what she was doing and shooed him off again. “I mean, you can’t look at this but I am within my legal rights if I verbally tell you -I was asked to regularize one of the temporary employees. I was already considering on making Martin’s contract a permanent one. Do you think he would like that?”

“I think… I think it would mean everything to him,” Jon said, stunned.

“I know it won’t fix whatever’s going on, but maybe it will take off some pressure.” Permanent work contracts were a rarity, and being handed such was a rather big thing. She would be advised against promoting someone with Martin’s background, but the final decision would be hers alone. To hell with consequences.

“Yes. Exactly. Thank you, Sasha.”

“Don’t mention it.” Sasha took in Jon’s appearance. Apart from his miserable expression, he looked good. He stood more upright than the man she had first learned to know as Jonathan Sims, and his unsettling set of scars had faded -or had she just gotten used to them? He didn’t look as starved anymore, either. His face was softer and rounder than it had been; it was a face where a timid smile sat more often now than that wary frown. “What about you, Jon? How have you been?”

“I’m fine, Sasha, it’s Martin who-” Jon had grabbed his arm with his free hand was squeezing it. Then his gaze sharpened and fixed on Sasha. He let his hand go and drew a breath before answering. “I’m…I’m actually quite good right now. Better than in a long time. But I worry a lot about Martin. I -I love him so much.”

“I hope things get better for him. You know you two are not alone -you can always ask for my help, as well as the others’.”

Jon smiled, then. “Yes. Thank you. I know it’s not me and him against the world.”

After he had left, Sasha mused his words for a long while. They had felt much heavier when she knew that the man who had spoken them was one of the people who had been imprisoned, tortured and mutilated for years at the inauspicious Magnus Institute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a shorter one this time -i think the last chapters will be monstrously long to make up for that, though!
> 
> also, heads up for the next chapter! the gore i promised shall be delivered at ch 8, so mind the tags then. 🖤
> 
> edit: ch 7, there will be violence in chapter _7_ and not 8, obivously, agh


End file.
